I Love You, I Don't Like You
by George H
Summary: Clark realises why he and Lex can never work out together. Vague Clex. Ficlet.


**I Love You. I Don't Like You.**  
a Smallville fanfiction  
by George H.  
20 January 2003  


Note: This is my first Smallville fic. It's a short ficlet of sorts, and a little poignant. Story is set after "Visage" and has slight Lex/Clark, and mentions Lex/Helen. Comments are appreciated, especially on first time forays.  


    "It's funny how you _always_ manage to show up just when things nosedive for the worst."  
    "I'm glad my presence has instilled such confidence in you, Clark," Lex sardonically replied, as he paused at the foot of the steps to the loft. Clark was sitting on the ledge, beside his telescope, still looking out at the night sky.  
    There was a pause in the conversation and Lex felt a somber mood shift; now wasn't the time to play word games. Lex looked down at his hands and then sighed very softly, composing himself. "I heard about Whitney," he softly said, finally starting up the steps. "I wanted to offer my condolences."  
    Clark nodded slightly, and then looked away from the starry sky. He was cast into a silvery light from the moon above, and it only served to accentuate his sullen mood. "I'm sorry, Lex. I shouldn't say things like that. It's just . . ."  
    "It's not easy losing a friend."  
    Clark nodded, and bowed his head. "Whitney was out there, fighting to protect us," Clark muttered.  
    "He died doing what he believed in Clark." Lex moved to stand beside him, letting the pale light wash the dark shadows of the loft off of him. His eyes looked out into the night sky, aware Clark was looking at him now. "That's more than can be said for most of humanity."  
    Clark bowed his head, and shook it. "I know," he softly whispered.  
    Lex basked in the starlight and silence for a moment before he looked to Clark again. "How is Lana?" The question, as they knew it, translated as, 'How bad is Lana?'  
    Clark looked up at Lex, and the pain reflected in his eyes struck the older man strongly. "She's torn up. She has so much regret for having broken up with him, leaving him to die thinking she wasn't there for him." Clark twisted his hands.  
    Lex smiled wryly. "Hindsight is twenty-twenty, Clark. Sometimes, you have to learn that the hard way."  
    Clark looked back up at his companion, his eyes suddenly sharp. "It isn't something she can just shrug off her shoulders and forget about, Lex. She's really tearing herself up over this. I can't believe you'd joke about it."  
    "I wasn't joking. That was advice. Don't get me wrong, Clark. I understand Lana's pain; I wasn't there for my mother when she died, either. However, since coming to Smallville, I've become a little desensitized to death. It's a weekly occurrence in this town, and more often than not, it's kids your age." He caught Clark's eyes narrowing in disapproval of the conversation, so Lex raised his hands disarmingly. "That's not to say I approve of it, either. But at the rate it happens in Smallville, we'll be living in a ghost town by the time I hit forty. I've come to accept that it's a way of life here."  
    "I hate it," Clark growled, and Lex's eyebrows rose at the unfamiliar sound.  
    "Well, it's not like it's your fault."  
    Silence descended on the pair. Clark looked away, as if he was frustrated and wanted to combat Lex's remark. Lex shook his head, scrutinizing. "Why do you do that?"  
    "What?" Clark muttered, trying to sound level again.  
    "Blame yourself for not being able to save the world."  
    Clark's hands tightened on the wood beneath them as he sought for an answer that he could feed Lex, while protecting his secret. "It's just the kind of guy I am, I guess."  
    Lex shifted from leaning against the railing, to turn towards Clark. He raised a hand to touch the younger boys face, but Clark shied away from the touch. "Clark?" Lex asked, perplexed.  
    "I don't think I can do this anymore, Lex," he answered in a whisper. Something in Lex's chest tightened at those words.  
    "Clark," he started, softly.  
    "I just can't take all this death and pain anymore. It seems like I make friends, just to have them die the following day. And not just strangers: these are people I really care about, Lex: Ryan, and Kyla, and . . . and Whitney. I couldn't protect them."  
    "But you protect the ones you love," Lex said confidently, smiling his own private smile. He trailed a hand through Clark's hair, as if entranced by its very existence.  
    Clark pulled away again, fixing the man across from him once more with his serious gaze. "Lex. I love you. I don't like you."  
    "Touché, Clark. I'm hurt," Lex countered, feigning insult.  
    Clark pushed off the ledge, and stepped into shadow. "I'm serious. It's like you're barely there, and then you suddenly show up in the nick of time, with a court order, or a million dollars, or an army of lawyers, or a witty comeback, but never as Lex Luthor."  
    Lex leaned back against the railing, studying his hands in their current monochrome-silver state. Then he looked back up at Clark, shrouded in darkness. "What _do_ you want me to do then, Clark?"  
    "Can't you . . ." Clark began, then ran his own fingers through his hair, looked back to Lex, and started over. "I held Lana tightly tonight. She cried until my shirt was soaked. I just stood there, and held her, and wanted to make it right. But I couldn't. All I could do was stand there, and let her cry in my arms. And it was enough." He swallowed tightly, and swayed a little as he stepped forward. "Can't you just let me cry in _your_ arms, once?"  
    Lex seemed momentarily taken off guard, and instead of automatically opening his arms to his best friend's request, he retorted on impulse with, "You don't seem the crying kind, Clark."  
    "See, that's what I _dis_like about you," Clark muttered, rocking back on his feet. "Your body is here, but _you're_ locked somewhere far away. You want secrets, but when I try to open up to you, you pull away. Up go the Luthor Walls. Well, here's a newsflash: Clark Kent does cry. He feels pain, and hurt, and sometimes needs someone to lean on. You might try passing that message on to Lex Luthor, wherever he is." Having gotten that out, Clark stepped back, and turned to stalk down the stairs.  
    "Clark," Lex called, grabbing his arm as he turned. "I've had walls erected around my very being since I was a little kid. It's not easy for me to change who I am. I'm trying. You have to understand that."  
    Clark looked at the hand grabbing his arm, and then right up into Lex's eyes. "With Helen?" he accused tauntly.  
    "What?" Lex questioned, brushing off whatever bothersome affair arose as soon as it surfaced, per usual. "You love me, but don't like me. She likes me, but doesn't love me. I think it's a fair trade," he countered quickly.  
    Clark pulled his arm free from Lex's grasp. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. You just brush off comments with sarcastic remarks like that, that may or may not be true. So, what? Are you using her to 'tear down your walls' so you can 'open up' to me?Isn't that taking the long way out?"  
    "Clark," Lex started, but Clark was already down the stairs.  
    Lex watched him pause on the bottom step, and turn back to him. He was barely visible in the darkness, just his eyes glittering in the colourless void, a sliver of nose, and a bit of silver cheekbone. "This is why we'll never work out together, Lex. I love you, but I don't like you. You like me, but you're incapable of love."  
    They held each other's gaze for a few final moments, and then Clark turned and left Lex standing alone in the loft.  


End.  



End file.
